


Undyne tries speed dating

by morefishplease



Series: Comfy Fish Stories [42]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Gen, Neckbeards, Speed Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morefishplease/pseuds/morefishplease
Summary: What it says in the title. Due to having originally been written and posted for a different site most of my stories' titles are just descriptions of the story, and I'm too lazy to make up meaningful titles for everything.





	Undyne tries speed dating

The bell rings and Undyne sighs, glances down at her watch for the umpteenth time. The man who slides into the still-warm seat of his slightly-rattled predecessor is jowly, covered in a thin wash of smarm. He grins at Undyne, reaches across for her hand. Undyne puts it out to shake, running on autopilot, eyes still sharply inclined, surveying her prey. He has a smell of cigarsmoke and faux-cool, running the wannabe PI circuit for laughs. You can tell from the hat, from the weathered trenchcoat folded over his arm. He takes her hand (his palm is fleshy and soft and she receives the sensation with mild repulsion) and she watches in frozen horror as he flips her hand over, raises it to his mouth, kisses it lightly just above her knuckles. His wiry bristles sting her hands and she reclaims it with a quick snatch that he seems not to notice.

“Madam,” he says, dropping his voice a few octaves deeper (you can hear it in his chest that he’s forcing it, of course, Undyne’s fins twitch at the sound, her eyes narrow a few further degrees), and Undyne lets out a groan under her breath.

The lady up at the main table sets her timer, rings the bell, and the dollarstore gumshoe leans in eagerly, eyes flickering up and down over Undyne. “I’m Jim,” he says, looking at her expectantly.

“Undyne,” she says, trying to keep her distaste from her voice; from the way he falters she isn’t sure she’s successful. The trail of his eyes up her body still lingers like a trail of slime, or so she imagines, and for not the first time that night she regrets wearing such a nice dress.

To be fair, she does look gorgeous; if you had been there it would have been  hard to keep your eyes off her, slim and black and elegant, hair done up delicately, finest white eyepatch in a stark contrast to the rest of her outfit. She has cute little pumps that (she decided after carefully examining herself in her mirror back home) make her legs and ass look great and she’s even put on a little makeup, although she’ll regret that later – it always combines dreadfully with the natural moisture of her skin and becomes difficult to remove.

Undyne had nearly avoided going; when she was standing there in front of the mirror she looked herself up and down a few times and started to feel incredibly silly. She looked at the dress, looked at herself, all dolled-up and uncharacteristically feminine, felt a little warning lump in the pit of her stomach. ‘What are you doing, Undyne,’ she asked herself, sitting down heavily on the bed. She looked down at those cute little pumps and could already feel herself wobbling in them. She looked down at her legs and noticed the way they bulged the dress outward with their thick knotty muscles; she runs a hand over her thigh, her calf, squeezes lightly – rock hard. She allows herself a tiny smile, lets herself feel a little better. Vanity is Undyne’s only vice.

Has it been five minutes yet? Undyne glances at her watch again. No, only three. The awkward little boy – no, she corrects herself, she supposes he is a man, although a vain and petty sort of one – in front of her is still devouring her with his eyes. She wonders what he’s imagining them doing, out of a sort of morbid curiosity. He’s talking very animatedly about something but try as she might she can’t drive herself to sit forward, pay attention. She notices that while she’s been thinking she’s been ripping the cheap plastic tablecloth into small shreds, running her claws through it idly. She laughs at herself, brushes the pieces off onto the floor.

“What do you think?” he repeats, a little louder this time, and Undyne looks up sharply.

“What?” she asks.

“I said, ‘what do you think?’”

“About what?” Undyne asks, and inwardly she is delighted when his face falls a little as he realizes she hasn’t listened to anything he’s said. Then he turns red and petulant and ‘oh,’ Undyne thinks to herself, ‘this is going to get ugly.’

“You’re a real bitch,” he says, crossing his arms sharply. The pair at the next table glance over, and Undyne meets the eyes of the girl next to her. She’s small and white and shy-looking, frozen in a scared snapshot. She glances away quickly, doesn’t look back, and something within Undyne snaps and she is filled with a warm and serene flood of anger, like a moonful of blood has just been dropped into her, has just splashed all over her.

When Undyne had been in high school, she had been a voracious reader, and one of her favorite books had been Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game. She hadn’t liked the sequels very much, although she thought Ender’s Shadow was alright, but the one quote she remembered from Ender’s Game was on the difference between hot and cold anger. While she is staring at the back of the girl’s head she thinks to herself, ‘hot anger was bad. Ender’s anger was cold, and he could use it. Bonzo’s anger was hot, and so it used him.’

The guy across from her is getting redder, he’s saying something else, but Undyne can’t hear him over her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She takes a deep breath, blows it out coolly through her mouth, and she sees him falter a little, blink at her. She feels herself freeze inside, so cold that if she moves she will shatter everywhere, but the feeling fills her with a sudden deadly precision. She realizes that everyone is staring at her and that her sight has returned, if only momentarily; as her anger growls to itself, curls back up, content to freeze and wait, she feels the starburst of black fire surrounding her ruined eye snuff itself out.

Undyne gets up. She slides the chair back with a screech across the marble floor, feels a dozen people jump at the sudden noise. She stares down at the man in front of her and from this position, she thinks, he seems very small indeed. She could decimate him, she thinks. All it would take is one punch. Somewhere within her her anger perks up its head, sniffs the air.

The bell rings.

Undyne turns, wobbles a few steps, lets out a frustrated hiss, takes her shoes off. It is raining as she walks home, blessedly alone, and she turns her face up to the pouring sky, lets its gentle tongue lick her makeup off, run through her hair. She closes her eyes, leans up against the cemetery’s wrought-iron fence, and when she is thoroughly soaked she smiles, a second moon blooming crescentlike in the night, for she has forgotten how to feel alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my worse stories, I think, mainly because of how ridiculous it is. I've never been speed dating so I assume it's not like this at all. The fedora-tipping neckbeard guy kind of pushes it over the edge, and while it's nice to see Undyne put him in his place it's totally expected and totally boring. You can also tell I couldn't think of what the guy should be talking about when Undyne isn't paying attention. It's a little unrealistic that he just blows his top immediately like that, and while yeah people like that do exist everybody knows that's a ridiculous reaction and it strains belief a little.
> 
> One redeeming note, however, and probably my invention that I'm the most proud of, is how Undyne's sight returns when she goes super saiyan, I thought that was really clever, although I guess it begs the question of why she doesn't go around like that all the time. Maybe she hasn't done eight episodes just powering up yet. That's something you can pretty easily handwave away though.
> 
> It's a little clumsy how I use the quote from Ender's Game but that was something I wanted to work in and I didn't want to paraphrase for some reason. I think that if I had a do-over I would paraphrase.


End file.
